‘That’s up to you and Fiona. Tony, if Blake thinks that taking you off the payroll means he gets the product of your brilliance because of our relationship, then he’s got to be shown he’s wrong. Until he understands that, I’m not talking to you about the details of these cases. You’ll have to be like everyone else and read about them in the papers.’ She placed her hand over his and her voice softened. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t understand,’ he said. ‘I mean, I get your point about not wanting to take advantage of our relationship. Not wanting Blake to get something for nothing. But this is people’s lives we’re talking about, Carol. This is a killer who is going serial unless you can stop him. Surely we have to do what we can to stop that? Isn’t that more important than making a point?’
For a moment, he thought his appeal to her finer instincts had won her over. She bit her lip and fiddled some more with her chopsticks. Then she shook her head. ‘This isn’t about cheap point-scoring. It’s about a bigger picture. It’s about making sure my team is properly resourced. It’s not just a question of what happens in this case. If we don’t settle this nonsense now, a lot more people are going to die and not have any kind of justice. I can’t work with one hand tied behind my back for ever, and Blake has to be made to see that. You’re right, there are lives at stake. And that’s why I have to take a stand here.’
He remembered that he wasn’t supposed to know about Tim Parker. He thought for a moment about how he’d have reacted if he’d genuinely been ignorant. ‘So you’re doing this without any outside help? A potential serial and you’re going back to the old ways of thinking only coppers know how villains think?’ He aimed for disbelief and annoyance, not sure how hammy he seemed.
Carol looked away. ‘No, we’ve got someone from the faculty doing a profile.’
Tony groaned. ‘I’ve done myself out of a job, haven’t I? So who is it? Tell me it’s one of the better ones.’
‘Tim Parker.’
He put his head in his hands. His voice came out muffled. ‘And what did you make of Tim?’
The waitress shimmered up in her tight satin kimono with a platter of spring rolls and placed it between them. Carol picked one up and bit into it. ‘Ah,’ she gasped. ‘Hot!’ She chewed open-mouthed, swallowed and drank more wine. ‘We used to have an expression when I was a teenager: NBB.’
‘NBB?’ Tony nibbled more gingerly.
‘Nice Bloke, But . . .’
‘And that meant what, exactly?’
‘Pleasant enough. But something missing. Charisma, looks, smarts, personality, sense of humour. One or more of the above. Fatally flawed as a potential boyfriend, basically.’ Seeing him about to respond with more mystification, she clarified her meaning. ‘Not that I was thinking of Tim as potential boyfriend material. What I meant was that he’s perfectly personable, clearly not stupid and knows how to take an order gracefully. But it’s obvious he’s not got what it takes.’
‘And I have?’
Carol laughed. ‘Apparently.’
Tony shook his head, laughing with her. ‘That’s more than a little worrying.’
‘So do you know young Tim? Am I wrong? Does he have what it takes?’
Tony debated what to say. Should he tell her the truth, that Tim had about as much empathy as a tabloid journalist? He didn’t care about Tim, but he did care about not undermining Carol and her team. So he settled for unfamiliar diplomacy. ‘He’s got some ability,’ he said. That was stretching it as far as he was prepared to go.
They ate in silence. Then Carol said, ‘If he’s no good, I’ll know,’ she said.
‘I know you’ll know. The question is what you’ll do about it.’
She gave a wry smile. ‘I’ll tell him. And then I’ll raise merry hell with Blake. And hopefully he’ll let me bring you in from the cold.’
He’d always loved her optimism. It had taken a battering over the years, but still she clung to the belief that things would work out for the best. He knew he should be grateful for that. Why else would she have clung on to him all this time? ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got my thermals on,’ he said. ‘It might take a while.’
‘We’ll see.’ Carol finished the last of the spring rolls and sat back, wiping her lips with the napkin. ‘So tell me about nearly getting arrested.’
Tony obliged, playing up the slapstick to lift her spirits. ‘The amazing thing is that they still paid attention to my profile,’ he finished.
‘I wish I’d seen the look on the estate agent’s face,’ Carol said.
‘She screamed like a train whistle,’ he said. ‘It was not a good experience.’
‘What about visiting the house? Was that a good experience? ‘
Tony tilted his head back as if seeking inspiration on the ceiling. ‘Yes,’ he said, considering. ‘Yes, it was.’
‘What was it like?’
‘A home,’ he said. ‘A place where someone lived comfortably. Nothing for show, everything because it was what he wanted, what he needed.’ He sighed. ‘I think I might have liked him.’
Carol’s eyes were soft with sympathy. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It can’t be helped.’ He loaded his fork with noodles and filled his mouth. It was as good a way of avoiding conversation as any.
Carol was looking troubled. She’d stopped eating and was signalling to the waitress for more wine. ‘I found out some stuff when you were gone,’ she said. He raised his eyebrows in a question. ‘Stuff about Arthur. Why he left.’
Tony stopped chewing. His food seemed to have expanded into an impossibly large lump. He forced himself to swallow. ‘How did you find that out?’ And why did you do it? Because she couldn’t help herself. Because she was the best detective he knew.
‘I started with old phone books. I found his factory. He was brilliant, Tony. He developed a new method of electroplating surgical instruments. He patented it, then sold the business to some big outfit in Sheffield. He was pretty amazing.’
He studied his plate. ‘He did well down in Worcester too. He had a factory there. He carried on inventing new stuff. And selling out.’ He was well aware of the ambiguity of his final sentence. It matched his ambivalence towards Blythe.
‘I also found out why he left,’ she said, digging into her bag and coming out with a print-out of the story from the Triple H. She handed it over in silence and waited till he’d read it.
‘I don’t understand,’ Tony said. ‘Why did he leave town? He was the victim here. Are you saying there was something more to this? Was he being threatened or something?’
‘No, nothing like that. According to Vanessa—’
‘You talked to Vanessa about this? Carol, you know how I feel about involving Vanessa in my life.’ His raised voice was drawing attention from the handful of other diners in the upper room.
‘I know. But there’s nobody else to ask, Tony.’ She reached across the table and grabbed his hand. ‘I think you need answers. Sleeping in Arthur’s bed and working in his living room isn’t going to tell you what you really need to know. There’s no way you can make peace with yourself, with him, until you know why he ran away.’
Tony was so angry he didn’t dare open his mouth. How could she understand so little about him? Had he been fooling himself all these years, investing her with qualities she didn’t possess because he needed her to have them? He wanted to shout at her, to make her see how far she had trespassed. He knew he could devastate her and drive her from him with a handful of well-chosen sentences. And part of him wanted to do just that. Part of him wanted to banish her and her presumptions from his life. He’d travel further and faster and lighter without her. Then an appalling thought battled through his anger. You sound just like Vanessa.